The
carriage smelled like expensive cologne and sweat; the scent gave
Nemaro something to focus on as he tried desperately not to shiver in
front of Lord Lanosh. Cloying and a little too musky. He wrinkled his
nose, nearly sneezing, but decided he’d rather he find the smell
distasteful than attractive. His eyes ran over the carriage, noting the
mahogany paneling in the walls and the scrolled ironwork over the
windows.

The
wood was so polished he could see his reflection in it, but combined
with the ironwork it added to his feeling of being caught in a trap.
Glancing over, he saw Lord Lanosh watching him and looked away again.
Up, this time, and he paused to stare as the ceiling. An artist had
painted a vivid, and bloody, rendition of some random battle in the
Keep’s past. As he examined it, he could actually see small dismembered
corpses on the battlefield.

Suddenly queasy, Nemaro
dropped his
eyes and concentrated on his dress. In a few seconds he was
running his hands over his skirt. It was very soothing until Lord
Lanosh cleared his throat. Nemaro glanced up and smiled weakly, still
stroking his skirt. Peach silk gave way to coarse burgundy velvet as
his fingers moved from his skirt to the seat and he fuzzed it, rubbing
against the nap to make a small, prickly circle.

His
fingers stopped moving as he met Lanosh’s eyes. The Lord’s
black
hair was as perfectly arranged as the
man’s clothing, unpleasantly perfect. Nemaro had to hold back another
shiver of fear and he clamped his fingers together to keep them from
fidgeting.

Lords
were like feral dogs; show any sign of weakness and they’d tear your
throat out. Of course, show any signs of strength and they were likely
to view it as a challenge and destroy you anyway. And if one of them
found you desirable? Faces of the God help you, because no one else
certainly would.

Nemaro could only hope that he
was looking increasingly undesirable. He certainly felt bilious; his
stomach was giving him fits, clenching violently every few seconds. As
though he needed
a reminder that this was a bad idea? Getting involved with a Lord was always stupid,
forced or not, and this one seemed worse than usual.

Since
the carriage door had closed, it took everything Nemaro had to keep
from bolting. Lord Lanosh stared at him like he was trying to see past
Nemaro’s clothing and into the writhing innards underneath. The fingers
rubbing softly over fine wool pantaloons should have softened the
unsavory impression. They didn’t. Nemaro’s eyes ended up
following the man’s hand, wondering what the fabric felt like, and
wishing Lanosh would stop fondling his clothes. Because for some
reason, with every movement, Nemaro expected to see those
fingers
stop petting and make a fist instead.

And he didn’t
even know why.

All
Nemaro could
think of was a stallion he’d once seen at market. With the same dark
eyes as the Lord, it had reveled in
trying to trample the poor bastards who had the task of feeding it.
Nemaro watched Lanosh and shuddered, waiting for the stallion to charge.

He
needed to find a way to
get to the knives at his thighs. It would have to be more than a brief
distraction; the stays kept him in place too well for him to lean over
without any obvious motion. If he paid attention to the bumps
the carriage was hitting and pretended to fall on the floor, perhaps?
Nemaro’s dignity was a lot less precious to him than his life. He could
slide up the dress’s skirt while he was on the floor and reach
underneath for the comforting heft of his daggers.

“You
made
this easier than I would have thought,” Lord Lanosh said. Nemaro kept
his eyes big – innocent – as his stomach fluttered in warning again.

“I
beg your pardon?”

The
man’s head tilted and he smiled. “You left your face unaltered.
Convenient, but not very intelligent, was it? A dress isn’t that much
of a disguise. Then again, what can one expect from a pampered little
Gift?” Nemaro’s stomach twisted so violently Nemaro almost threw up.
Lanosh continued in a soft, caressing voice. “And that’s exactly what
you are, isn’t it, Nemaro Tesa
du Arcana Johl?”

Nemaro’s
blood slowed, thumping through his ears with a roaring rush of sound
that blocked out everything but his own panicked thoughts. He hadn’t
heard that name in over two years. It wasn’t possible that Lanosh knew
it. It wasn’t possible! Not even Horu knew that name!

He
was just Nemaro now. Not Nemaro, Gift to the Arcane God

How
did the Lord know his name?!

Nemaro
tried to keep his fatuous smile intact as he met Lanosh's gaze. Fuck!
Frantically, he searched
his memory for some way out of the carriage. The metalwork over the
windows was better than any bars could have been. The walls were too
heavy to break through, but there wasn’t a lock on the small door.
Nemaro’s hands twitched.
He could try for the door and take his chances with the guards. That
would work. They wouldn’t expect it; he might make it. If he ran fast
enough…

He couldn’t think what to do after that. How
did the man know who he was?!

Lanosh’s
hand reached out and Nemaro pressed back against the seat. The fingers
trailing down his hair had his breath come out in harsh pants. His
hands fisted, readying himself for anything.

“Such a
lovely color,” Lanosh mused, fingering a lock of Nemaro’s hair. “You do look the part of
a Lord’s concubine, even if we both know differently.”

“I’m
sorry? I’m confused…” Just another second and he could-

Lord
Lanosh grinned wider. He leaned back and his foot suddenly lashed out
and caught Nemaro in the chest, slamming him back into the seat. “I
imagine you are.”

Nemaro struggled to catch his
breath. The bodice was so stiff it was crushing his lungs! He
groaned, the pressure increasing while he fumbled weakly at Lanosh’s
boot. Nemaro thought he heard something crack, and thought for a moment
it was a rib until he felt the bodice shifting.

Lanosh
watched, eyes bright and fascinated as a crow’s. “The temple’s
artist hardly did you justice, you know, not that it matters in the
slightest. The description for the masses would be enough to find you:
a small, striking boy with Nehman features and Kimarn eyes.”

Nemaro
pushed at Lanosh’s foot, gulping for air, trying to glare. He was sure
it came woefully short when the Lord merely chuckled, shaking his head.

“Pouting? That’s simply perfect. No wonder the
Temple decided
to make you into a runaway toy in need of saving. You fit the part. And
they’re even offering a reward out of the goodness of their hearts;
they wouldn’t want you to suffer,
poor lost lamb that you are.”

Nemaro
tried to respond to Lanosh’s derisive laughter and couldn’t get more
than the bare amount of air needed to take another breath. If he could
just lean down far enough, he could reach a dagger, but the man had him
pinned like a fly on a board!

“I’m surprised someone
hasn’t turned you in already.” Lanosh eased off long enough for Nemaro
to take a full breath.

Lanosh
tsked. “That lie was barely worth the wasted breath.” He focused on
Nemaro’s face and Nemaro saw the lust from the dress
shop creeping over the man’s features. Lanosh ran his eyes down
Nemaro’s body and licked his lips. “Nemaro Tesa du Arcana Johl,
given to the Arcane temple in Kimarn as an offering as soon as he was
weaned, missing since he turned 18. Not that they can advertise the
fact. You’re the first Gift to leave in over a hundred years, boy, and
it looks very
bad for a temple when they can’t even hold on to their own offerings.”

Adjusting
himself as he looked Nemaro over again, Lanosh chuckled. “I can see why
they’re so eager to have you returned rather than assassinated,
however. You don’t usually see your kind of looks except in a High
Lord’s concubine. And here the Historians waited all those years for
you to grow up so they could taste you, and you ran away the night
before your initiation.” He chuckled darkly. “Their cocks must have
been weeping over the loss of that ass, Tesa.”

“Don’t call me Tesa.”
The response was automatic and Nemaro cursed himself the moment the
words left his mouth. Who cared what the bastard called him!
Nemaro needed to get out! He got ready to bolt again and cursed as
Lanosh leaned all his weight back on his foot.

“But
that’s what
you are.” Lanosh continued smiling as he ground his heel against
Nemaro’s chest, fouling the pale fabric with black smudges. “They own you.” The smile
tightened. “And as long as you’re still unscarred by the time I return
you, they’ll give me exactly
what I want in exchange for you.”

Nemaro’s
skin sweat coldly. He wasn’t going back to being a Gift. This man could
abuse him for weeks if he wanted, but that was nothing to what
Nemaro’s life would be like if the Arcane temple got to him. There
would never
be another chance
to escape. He’d be initiated immediately – trapped in that hell of
unending conformity, told what to eat and read and wear and do.

Because
Gifts didn’t have choices. Pampered or not, Gifts were property. And initiated Gifts
were cloistered; Nemaro wouldn’t be able to sneak so much as a basil
leaf, not like when he was younger.

That’s why
he’d damn well left
before he was
initiated, dammit! He wasn’t going back!

“I told
you, I’m not this Nemaro person!”

“Don’t try my
patience. You might be lovely, but you are a man.” The
foot released only to shove back harder into Nemaro’s stomach.

He
choked, gasping frantically. “I’m not-” It was so hard to breathe! “I’m
not denying th-that! But-” Name. He needed a name! “I’m Horu!
Horu…uh…Meeta-ShaKara. You’ve got the wrong person.”

“Lying
will only get you punished, Tesa.”
Lanosh smiled. “And I’m certain the Historians would be pleased to have
the task already taken care of by the time they arrive to claim you.”

“I’m
not -” Seeing the utter disbelief on Lanosh’s face, Nemaro stopped
himself. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his eye from the door
and
dropped his hands helplessly into his lap, fiddling with the silk and
velvet. If he could get the bastard
to relax, he could get to his knives and get out. “Please,
you’re hurting me.”

It
took no effort at all to let a couple tears out. This fucking hurt!
Nemaro wasn’t surprised to see Lord Lanosh’s eyes light up as he saw
them, either. Fucking bastard. “I swear, my name is Horu. I’ll tell you
all about myself, but please, don’t hurt me.” As long as he
shifted his foot away…

“You Gifts truly are as
soft.” Lanosh
leaned in with his foot again and Nemaro groaned. And then he
moved away and Nemaro fell forward onto the floor of the carriage. When
Lord Lanosh grabbed his hair to force his head up, Nemaro had a knife
at the man’s groin.

“Stop the carriage.” Nemaro’s
voice shook, but his hand didn’t.

But
neither did Lord Lanosh. He smiled slowly and his hand over Nemaro’s
hair tightened. “What a nice surprise. I think we’re going to have much
more fun than I’d originally thought.”

“Stop the
carriage!”
Nemaro pressed forward with the dagger. The pain in his neck from being
held back so awkwardly made him flinch. A small bump jiggled his hand
and the point tore a small hole through the woolen cloth covering the
man’s thigh.

Lanosh’s smile disappeared. “Drop the
knife this instant.”

“Are
you crazy? Stop the carriage, or you’ll lose your reason for molesting
women in the first place!” Nemaro grunted as the hand on his hair
clenched hard, and he pressed the dagger in until it almost broke the
skin.

Another smile, much darker. Pits of hell
darker.

“Have you forgotten about your lovers so
quickly?”

Nemaro froze: Horu and Mosumato? What- How
did Lanosh know about them?

“The
guards have already overpowered them by this point, I’m sure, although
I was impressed by their size. You must enjoy being dominated. First
the Historians, and now women who are obviously your physical superior.
Quite the submissive little toy, aren’t you?”

Sha
and Meeta.
Merciful face of the God, he meant the women. Nemaro shifted the dagger
higher, to the soft bulge between the Lord’s legs.

“Stop
the
carriage and let the women go. This is the last time I’m saying a damn
thing before I start cutting.” Nemaro didn’t want to be saying anything
at all, but he didn’t know if they could get away from the guards
without Lanosh. They needed a hostage.

Lord
Lanosh’s eyes
got even darker, but he didn’t so much as flinch. “If I stop the
carriage early, the guards will kill your women. And if you so much as
prick my skin with that quaint little dagger, the guards will do far
worse to your female companions before
they kill them.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Lord
Lanosh smiled. “You did hear the guards asking about my wife, didn’t
you? Did you really believe they wouldn’t already have orders for that
sort of situation?” Nemaro looked at him blankly. “The men were asking
how many of them should surround your
lovers during the trip. It’s standard practice to have hostages if I
have company in my carriage, to prevent situations such as this. If I
don’t leave this carriage alive, intact, and
unthreatened, then your lovers don’t live out the day.”

Nemaro
stared at him, trying to gauge the truth from his eyes, and he saw not
the slightest hint of fear. They’d really do it. He’d-

“Now
drop the knife, into my hand, or I’ll ask them to kill one of the women
when we stop, on principle.”

With
tight lips, Nemaro dropped his blade into Lanosh’s large,
smooth-skinned hand. He wasn’t going to take a chance Sha or Meeta
could be hurt, not when they’d come along because of him.

Not
when he still had one dagger under his skirt that he might be able to
use later.

He
jerked back with a cry as Lord Lanosh fisted his hand in Nemaro’s hair
and yanked him up on his knees. “Foolish to care for someone enough to
give up your advantage, Tesa.
And you nearly cut me. Now we’re definitely going to see you punished
before your temple comes to get you.” He smiled viciously. “If the ride
was longer, I’d see what you can do with that pretty mouth other than
scream.”

Nemaro couldn’t even swallow, his throat
was so tight.
Lords always threatened, always wanted some new sexual perversion, but
it had never been this bad before. Escape was something Nemaro kept in
the back of his mind on each and every job, but how in the name of the
Dark God was he going to get out of this?
If he could even get out the door and past the guards, all he could do
was run. And he doubted he could manage that unless he left the women
behind.

That
seemed too chicken hearted, even for him. And it would mean leaving
behind Horu as well. Nemaro couldn’t… He wasn't leaving Horu.

Dammit,
they’d been willing to fight Mosumato
for him. That was far worse than this, wasn’t it? Nemaro closed his
eyes and stayed on his knees, breathing deeply and trying to simply
revel in the fact that he could
breathe deeply. He just had to hold on and things would get better.
Stop panicking and remember one vitally important thing: Horu would
come get him.

There was no way Horu would leave
him here for
the Temple. And Horu was the scariest thing Nemaro had ever seen, when
the god was feeling protective.

“Open your eyes, Tesa.”

Nemaro
did, and Lanosh was right there, leaning forward and staring into his
face. He tried to flinch back instinctively and was halted by the
burning pain in his scalp.

“I find myself curious.”
The man’s
voice was casual, as though he didn’t have Nemaro trapped on the floor
of a carriage wearing women’s clothing. “How rigorous was your training?”

Was
Lanosh hoping for help on his search for the Eye? “It was
thorough.” Maybe he’d let Nemaro take a look at the map, if
he
wanted someone to look it over. When Horu came after them, Nemaro would
have the information they needed and-

“Mmmmm.” The
Lord’s eyes
fell to Nemaro’s mouth and he pulled Nemaro in close, pushing the tip
of Nemaro’s own dagger under his chin. “And how much can you take down
your throat?”

Nemaro couldn’t answer if he didn’t
want the point
of the knife to puncture his jaw, but he was instantly reminded of what
the rumormongers called the Gifts to the Arcane Temple: the Historians'
harem. The Lord
pulled the knife back just enough to allow for speech.

“You’re
mistaken.”

Lord Lanosh’s face darkened again. “I’m
never mistaken.”

“It’s an old wives tale. Gifts
aren’t used like that.” And thank all the faces of the God for it.

He
cried out again as the Lord slammed Nemaro face first into the hard
seat and yanked him back. “I said, I don’t
make mistakes. Historians talk as much as anyone else when their ale is
drugged; I know exactly how they make use of their gifts. Did you think
all your food and clothing, all your little luxuries, were free?
There’s always a price to pay.”

Lips scraped and
bruised from
the seat, Nemaro stared at him. He’d thought the man was insane before,
but now he knew it. The Historians were archaic, changed at a geologic
pace, and wouldn’t let a Gift choose so much as the color of their
socks in the winter. But Gifts weren’t prostitutes. Historians were so
stuffy they never even used… prostitutes…

But they
visited the initiated Gifts in the cloister all the time. Usually at
night.

“Y-You’re wrong.” He had to be wrong.

Lord
Lanosh suddenly smiled at him, his head tilting as his lips curled.
“You didn’t know.”

Nemaro
didn’t speak. He didn’t trust himself to say anything, not when there
was the slightest chance that this man had any kind of a point.

“That’s
too delicious. A whore in training and you didn’t even know.”

“I’m
no whore!”

“No?”
Lanosh brushed the point of the dagger down Nemaro’s throat and teased
the lace of the bodice with the edge. “I find that hard to believe. A
Gift has no skills but being pretty, pampered, and cared for. Simply
because you managed to find women to keep you doesn’t make you any less
a whore.”

Nemaro didn’t answer, but the man looked
at him with suddenly narrowed eyes. “Or did you whore for
them?”

“What
does it matter what I did.” Nemaro tried to keep his voice sullen, as
though he was ashamed of it. He was a moron! Now that he’d protested,
Lanosh might start looking for other reasons Nemaro had come. That was
the last thing they needed!

He had to use his head!
Horu would
come in time, they’d all get out of this psychotic man’s Keep, and
everything would be fine. As long as Nemaro didn’t screw it up.

Screw
it up more.

“Hmm.”
Lord Lanosh sat back against the seat, pulling Nemaro’s head with him
until Nemaro was pressed against his leg. The wool was scratchier than
Nemaro would have thought and itched his face. Lanosh held him there
almost
absently, his grip on Nemaro’s hair tightening and releasing in a
creepily reminiscent way of someone in the throws of an orgasm.

With
the man’s crotch near Nemaro’s face, it was too suggestive by half.

You can do this. Just calm down
and think, dammit!

The
women would be brought in with him, wouldn’t they? The carriage was
going slowly enough for men to walk alongside it. He could hear the
high-pitched coin-jingle of chain mail as the guards walked, and the
muted ring of boots on stone. He strained his ears to see if he could
hear women’s voices, but there was too much noise.

Were
they
worried about him? He didn’t have to ask if they were ready for a
fight; they were always ready for a fight. Did they know what was going
on? Maybe they’d been told the same thing: that he’d be killed if
they didn’t cooperate. Shit. If he could just see them, he’d be able to
figure this out!

Nemaro
grit his teeth as they hit a small bump and his knees protested
noticeably at the constant pressure from the floor of the carriage.

“May
I get up? I won’t try to hurt you. Or run away.” But it would make it
easier to do both, later.

“Of
course you wouldn't.” Lord Lanosh tightened his grip and pushed down
until there was even more pressure on Nemaro’s knees. “You care so much for your
protectors. Or rather, you think that they might still be able to
protect you.
I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”

Nemaro
tried not to make a sound as the man forced him to stay there for the
rest
of the trip. He knew it was almost over when he heard someone raising a
portcullis. The jostle of the carriage as it went over the holes
underneath jolted his whole body. Nemaro tried to control his breathing
and keep the panic at bay, but it wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped.
He was in a carriage with a very powerful madman, inside a ‘stone
mansion’ that sure as hell felt like a castle. And someone
from the
Temple would be coming for him.

Just like he’d
originally
thought – there weren’t any good ways out of a place like this. He
needed a home to steal something from, not a damn fortress! And even if
this bastard only hurt him in little ways like this, what was Lanosh
going to do to Sha and Meeta? Meeta wouldn’t put up with any shit
without fighting; would they hurt her?

The carriage
came to a stop while he was still worrying.

“I-
I’ll do whatever you ask, if you let the women go,” he said quickly. “I
know things. About the Arcane temples, and where they store their
riches.” The temples could get more riches, but the women only had one
life each.

Lord Lanosh chuckled and finally let go
of Nemaro’s
head. With a groan, Nemaro tried to scoot away and caught himself on
the other seat as his legs refused to support him.

“Of
course
you’ll do whatever I ask. If you don’t, your women will suffer for it.
As it is, they’ll be entertaining in the barracks tonight.”

“What!”

Lord
Lanosh’s eyes were slits. “You were going to cut me, Tesa. And when you
make a mistake, they’ll pay for it, as well.”

“You
can’t!”

“I
can do whatever I wish.” Lanosh leaned over Nemaro until they were nose
to nose. “Although if you prove to be entertaining enough, perhaps I
might change my mind.”

Nemaro would have spit in
his face, but
his mouth was suddenly far too dry. He stared, trying to swallow, to
come up with something to say. The only thing that came to mind was
‘get the fuck away, you sick bastard,’ and looking into Lanosh’s
smirking face, he was too fucking terrified to say a damn thing.

The
door opened before he could work up the courage, small steps set up
against the opening. Lord Lanosh didn’t even bother to look at him as
he left; no criminal Nemaro knew would be that stupid. You needed that
Lordly arrogance, the idea that nothing would dare harm you once
you had the upper hand, to turn your back on someone you’d just
threatened.

Nemaro
wished he had the guts to come after the bastard and stab him, but he
was still staring at Lanosh's back, readying himself, as the carriage
door slammed shut.

“Hey!
What are you doing?” Nemaro stumbled to the door, tripping over his
skirts. Shoving at it did absolutely nothing; it was barred from the
outside. The heavy thing barely creaked as he crashed into
it, and the carriage started moving again. He reached under his skirt
and palmed the last dagger. Could he pry open the ironwork with
it?

He didn’t get the chance
to try. The carriage
entered somewhere dim and hollow less than a minute later, coming to a
halt with an aggrieved creaking. There was a muffled thud
against
the door and then it opened again. Nemaro stayed half-crouched inside
the carriage, trying to see outside it.

“Come on
out, pretty, or I’m comin’ in after yeh.”

The
hairs on the back of Nemaro’s neck stood on end and he gripped the
dagger tighter, checking to make sure it didn’t show. He hoped the man
wasn’t as big as his voice sounded. Taking a few deep breaths to gather
his courage, and wrinkling his nose as the pungent smell of manure
assaulted him, Nemaro stood up. Was he in the stables?

The
light was dim, but the carriage doorway was still visible. Nemaro
didn't even have to squint as he found the step with his eyes and
exited the carriage. There was a brightly liveried footman on either
side of the steps, both large and dark, with closely cropped hair
barely covering their scalps. No sign of Lanosh, or anyone else, just
the loud snorts of horses and the periodic stamping of shod hooves.
Nemaro
swallowed heavily as he glanced at each man. Lanosh must acquire
his servants from the local prisons; such scarred, mammoth men should never be servants.

“C’mon,
now. Stop messin’ about and get your fancy ass out.” The servant held
out his arm for Nemaro to take hold of. At least it wasn’t the side
holding the knife. Hiding his unease, Nemaro put his hand out to allow
the man to help him down.

The servant grabbed his
wrist in a
harsh grip instead of leaving his arm there to rest on. Nemaro was so
on edge, he stabbed out almost immediately, but not fast enough. The
other footmen wrenched his free arm to the side before he connected.
Nemaro yelled out as his arms were pulled apart so tightly they nearly
dislocated his shoulders. Both pressure points in his wrists were
triggered; his hands spasmed. The dagger fell to the floor with a
rustling thump into the hay. Struggling to breathe without moaning, he
hung in mid-air by his arms. It was so painful…

“Li’l
brat. Shouldn’t’ve tried to cut me.”

Nemaro
clenched his teeth as the men shifted, dragging him down the two steps
from the carriage. He hissed like a cat when they managed to get his
arms behind his back.

“Not so easy to cut me now,
eh?” The man yanked Nemaro’s arm up behind him until he cried out.

As
the order was punctuated with another jerk on his arms, Nemaro shut up.
The guards walked towards the back of the stables. Nemaro’s feet
dragged furrows along the hay strewn floor as he stumbled after them.
What in all the hells was going on? Maybe there was some mistake. They
didn’t know he was a man, maybe they’d take him to the wrong place, as
well. If it could buy him some time, Nemaro might even be able to get
out and find Sha and Meeta

Except they didn’t seem
to be
dragging him anywhere but the back of the stables. Standing in front of
a wall, Nemaro looked up at both of them, worrying over what they were
planning. His body tensed. Two big men, another in a dress, and an
empty stable. It had all the makings of a really bad dirty story, with
Nemaro on the losing end. If they thought they were going to-

A
hidden door opened in the wall with a dragging scrape.

“Shit!”

Whistling,
a gust of air blew around them, cold enough that all three shivered.
Nemaro wished it had been enough to keep them from dragging him into
the darkness.

He started babbling as soon as the
door closed
behind them. He couldn’t help himself. “Where are you taking
me?
You know I’m- I’m a special guest of Lord Lanosh. He’ll be furious if
anything happens to me.”

The irritable one snorted.
“Furious if
anything happens to you that he doesn’t get to watch, you mean.” They
started walking down a gray, stone corridor, decorated with torches
that lit themselves as Nemaro watched.

Dank
stone, no rugs, no paintings on the walls, the smell of mildew and
burnt pitch, and the echoing sound of water dripping out of sight. Oh
this didn’t look good
at all. “No, really. Lord Lanosh and I…” They ignored him and hustled
him around a corner, following a down-sloping hallway. “I- I have other
friends you don’t want to have as your enemies, either. Really
powerful- ”

“I don’t care how much power your
friends have, no
bit of pillow fluff is worth crossing the Lord of the Keep over.”
Another corner

“I’m not pillow fluff!” It was hard
to sound firm
when he was hunched over, trying to keep the pressure off his arms as
they walked.

“Sure look like something made to bend
over the pillows to me,” one of them said.

“Or over
a table.” They both leered down at him, bending his body at the waist
suggestively, and he shuddered.

He was red and
stuttering by the time they let him up. “L-look here, m-my friends
will-”

“Don’t want to hear about your friends, so
shut up about it already.”

“But they’re-” Nemaro’s
head rung as one of them boxed his ear.

“Shut up.
Understand?”

They
went down a shallow flight of steps as Nemaro stumbled along with them,
trying to clear his head. Another few turns – how far down were they
going? – and he was grateful for his memory or he’d never find his
way out of here.

When he got free.

“I
have money,” Nemaro said weakly. His head still felt like he’d been hit
in the face with a tree trunk. “I could pay you.”

“Of
course you do,” one of the men muttered.

“I do!”

“Give
it to me now, then.”

“I don’t have it on me. But I
can
get it.”

“Yeh, 'course you can. Think we haven’t
heard this before? Every plea and
bargain and promise in the book?” They turned another corner and Nemaro
saw a huge wooden door ending the corridor.

It
stopped Nemaro
cold. His feet dragged another foot before he started walking again.
“Lord Lanosh…has kidnapped people before?”

“Why do
you think he
has a playroom in the dungeon?” One of them left him to open the heavy
door; it was humiliating how easy it was for the other one to keep
Nemaro immobile.

He tried to speak
as they took him in, breathing a sigh of relief when it turned out to
be just another hallway. But he hadn’t known they were headed to the…
“Dungeon?”

One of them chuckled and yanked up higher
on Nemaro’s
arm until Nemaro cried out again. “Of course it’s the dungeon. Can’t
let his lady know about the Lord’s little games with other gels, now
can he?”

“But I’m not a woman! I’m a man! A-are you
sure I’m not supposed to go to some other
room?”
Somewhere easier to break out of?

“You’re a man?”
They both snorted. “Well, that’s a new one.”

“No! I
am!”

“Really.”
Nemaro yelped as one beefy hand reached for the front of his skirt and
groped him. He yelled as it found his crotch and squeezed. His groin
was free from molesting hands almost immediately.

“Well
I’ll be damned, he really ain’t a woman.”

“See!
So it must be a different-” They pulled on his body
and arched him back. He stared into two nearly identical faces,
chiseled and cold as they looked him over.

“Huh.
Pretty enough to be a woman.”

The
other one snorted again as they started walking. “And a hole is a hole.
Maybe Lord Lanosh wants to start trying out the pretty boys, now.”

“I
wouldn’t mind that.”

Nemaro couldn’t help the
small squeal that left his mouth as another large hand grabbed his ass
and squeezed tightly.

“Not
so hard,” the other guard said, and the hand disappeared. “You know
Lord Lanosh doesn’t like marks on them until he can see them made.
You’ll get a chance later.”

Nemaro’s heart sank to
his stomach.

“Hard
to wait sometimes. ‘Sides, yeh know he always marks up the pale ones
himself before we get to play. It’s not the same when the skin ain’t so
white.”

“No, but still fun.”

Nemaro’s
ass got another squeeze and he closed his eyes, praying Horu was coming
soon.

“Yeh, still fun. Think he’d let me break
this one in, if he got to watch?”

“Maybe. Bet a
pretty toy like this’ll squeal more than the girls.”

Nemaro
tried to hold his tongue as his ass was groped one last time before
they continued on. They kept talking, getting more and more graphic
about what they hoped they’d be allowed to do to him.

He
was proud that he managed to make it all the way to the ‘playroom’
without whimpering.